Belonging to Heaven, page 5
“Watch yourself,” Brother Bigler cautioned. “You wouldn’t want to start your mission with a broken foot.”
Around mid-morning the company stopped, and George took a deep breath and got out his canteen. He looked over at Henry Bigler who was examining a species of plant that sported a red flower bigger than a man’s hand.
“Did you ever imagine there could be a world such as this, Brother Bigler?”
The man looked around with appreciation. “Well, one thing’s for sure, the Lord is quite an artist.”
“He is that,” George agreed.
The company started off again, and after another half an hour of hiking, the ascent steepened, and the road became a track. Brother Bigler called for a halt and suggested they take a pathway off to the right toward the sound of a waterfall. Brother Clark agreed, and within minutes the group came through the jungle onto a wondrous scene. A high sparkling waterfall cascaded into a broad pool of water, and the men watched disbelieving as several native boys jumped the thirty to forty feet into the center of the deep pond.
“Would you look at that,” William said as he came to stand beside George. “Those are the best swimmers I’ve ever seen.” He started to undress. “Should we give it a try?”
George gave him a half grin. “Well, I’m going to bathe, but I think I’ll leave the jumping to the experts.”
The next hour was filled with mirth as ten grown men splashed in the cool water like schoolboys. George felt the sorrow of his parents’ deaths wash from his body, and he wondered if the other men were feeling the same refreshing. Was Brother Bigler sloughing off the rigors of the march he had endured with the Mormon Battalion? Was Brother Blackwell forgetting the horrors of the burning of the Nauvoo Temple and the mob expelling the Saints from their beloved city? Were the memories of the massacre at Haun’s Mill, or the deaths at Winter Quarters, being scrubbed from Brother Keeler’s soul? George floated on his back and watched the dappled sunlight playing on the water of the falls. Perhaps they were all feeling a rebaptism of faith and commitment to the cause of the gospel.
After the pleasant swim, the men dressed and continued their journey up the mountainside, and, even though the temperature at this elevation was cooler than at sea level, the men were soon sweating and wiping their brows. George’s thoughts wandered to the Salt Lake Valley, where he pictured sleet, snow, and desolate landscapes. He hoped his family was faring well, and he thanked heaven again for Charles Lambert. George’s attention was brought to the present as Elder Clark stopped on an open flat plateau overlooking a valley below. It was of sufficient area for all the missionaries to gather. They waited patiently for their leader to instruct them.
“Sit down, brethren. Seek out a shaded spot; we may be here awhile.” The men complied and Elder Clark continued. “I think we should begin with a song and then talk about the work before us.” He turned to George. “Brother Cannon, you have one of the better voices, would you lead us?”
George felt the expected twinge of fear drop into his stomach, but he nodded his acceptance. “What should we sing?”
“How about Brother Pratt’s hymn?” William offered. “‘An Angel from on High.’”
Several heads nodded and George began to sing. The others joined, and soon the sweet feelings of the Spirit surrounded the group. After the song ended, it took Elder Clark some time to settle his emotions before he spoke.
“I now wish to hear your thoughts concerning the work, and then we will have our prayer.”
Several of the brethren gave responses that centered on the preaching to be done and which islands should be visited. Others reminded the group to be diligent about the paperwork they needed to have in order to be able to preach. At one point Brother Bigler stood.
“I would also caution against confrontation with the good ministers already established here. Preach the word and let the Spirit work the conversion.” He grinned. “Now we do hope that those who fight against this work will be confounded, but we don’t need to go picking any fights.”
William Farrer spoke up. “I just want to be preserved from the powers of the devil and from evil.”
“A necessary wish for you, Brother Farrer,” Brother Bigler teased.
“And I would like our lives to be spared so we can all make it home again,” Brother Keeler added.
Several voices agreed with that sentiment.
George felt compelled to say something, but he was still uncomfortable speaking out in the group. He had shared a great deal of time and trials with these brethren, but that didn’t ease the pounding of his heart.
Brother Clark stood. “Are there any other words to be spoken?”
George raised his hand. Uncomfortable or not, he had a vision of the work on the Sandwich Islands that needed to be shared.
“Yes, Brother Cannon?”
“I have a question, actually.”
Elder Clark waited.
“What if the Spirit moves us to preach to the native population?” George watched his leader closely and could tell he was giving the question deep consideration.
“Most don’t know much English, Brother Cannon. It would be difficult to preach the tenets of the faith without the words to do so.”
George persisted. “But what if we were to learn a bit of their language—at least enough to tell them of the first principles, priesthood authority, and ongoing revelation?”
Elder Clark was silent for so long that George feared he had offended him in some way or gone beyond the mark. Finally, a slight smile brushed the leader’s mouth. “In this church, Brother Cannon, we believe in personal revelation, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In this church we believe in the gift of tongues.”
“We do.”
“Then I believe it entirely possible that you may receive the personal revelation to preach to the native population. If that should occur, young man, I would hope you would follow the assignment from the Lord.”
George lowered his head to hide the tears. “Yes, sir.”
President Clark looked around at the group of missionaries. “And now, brethren, if you are agreeable, I will act as voice for the prayer.”
George felt the Spirit flood his body as Elder Clark prayed that the door might be opened for the preaching of the gospel in these beautiful islands, that the missionaries might have the Spirit with them at all times, that their lives might be preserved, that the opposers to the work might be confounded, and that the honest in heart might embrace the truth when they heard it.
It was a simple prayer and not long, but with every word George felt the spirit of the work enter his heart, and he knew that he was exactly where the Lord wanted him. He looked over at William Farrer who nodded and grinned.
Elder Clark sat down and took some papers from his jacket pocket. “Now we will decide the pairs of missionaries and the islands to which they will be sent. I have written your names on these pieces of paper. I will choose four names and those brothers will choose their companions. And since I am not desirous to choose the place where you will labor, on these papers I have written the names of the islands, and we will cast lots.” He paused for comments. Since none were forthcoming, he continued. “Now, if you find it agreeable, I have already chosen Brother Thomas Whittle to remain here with me on Oahu to organize and run the mission.”
All the brethren heartily agreed, knowing that the combined skills and temperament of these two men would be a strength to the work.
As President Clark and Brother Whittle cast lots for the four who would lead the partnerships, George surveyed the brethren and felt calm about serving with any of them. Like himself, they had their foibles, but all had shown themselves to be hardworking and obedient to the gospel cause.
Brother Clark finished his conference with Brother Whittle and looked up. “The four leaders will be Henry Bigler, James Hawkins, John Dixon, and George Cannon.”
George was stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mind was such a muddle; he might as well have tried to speak Hawaiian.
“We have also cast lots to decide the order in which you will choose your companions, and the first lot fell to you, Brother Cannon.”
George still could not speak. He lowered his head. “May . . . may I have a moment to pray, President Clark?”
“Of course, Brother Cannon. That is probably a sound idea for all.”
In the ensuing quiet, George attempted to still the doubts that were making him tremble. I am the youngest. I fear to speak in front of people. I have no leadership experience. I would rather be a follower. Tears pressed at the back of his throat, and he felt his weaknesses most acutely. Just as his emotions were about to overtake him, his panic was replaced by a feeling of calm. George took a deep breath and felt the spirit directing clearly that he should choose Brother James Keeler to be his companion. “I choose Brother James Keeler,” George said, before opening his eyes. When he did look up, he saw that Brother Keeler was weeping.
Note
The first Protestant missionaries sailed from Boston, Massachusetts, on October 23, 1819, arriving five months later on the shores of the Sandwich Islands. They were funded by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions.
Chapter 4
Honolulu, Oahu
December 17, 1850
Dear Mary,
My thoughts are with you and the Saints in the Valley. I hope Charles was able to finish the room and that the bricks are holding up. I also hope that you are tolerating the winter fairly well and have enough to eat.
Today Brother Keeler and I will sail for our assigned island, and I wish to relate the remarkable circumstance surrounding the call and the placement. As I have told you, President Clark is the mission leader and a very able man. As he did not like to pair us off, nor to say which of the islands we should go to, he with his partner Brother Whittle selected four out of the eight to preside, one on each of the islands: Moloka‘i, Kauai, Maui, and Hawaii. One of the lots fell to me and I was to choose my companion. As all are older than myself, you can imagine my fears. My mind had not rested on any one as my choice for partner, and I was at a loss for a few moments whom to select. Then the spirit of the Lord plainly told me to choose Brother James Keeler. I did so. I was both surprised and pleased at the manner in which he received my choice, for I, being so young, and he so much my senior, had thought that he would prefer a partner of more mature years and experience. He afterward told me that when the four were chosen, and he found that I was one of them, he had prayed to the Lord that I might be led to elect him to go with me. His prayer was heard and answered, and we both were gratified.
In casting lots for islands, Maui fell to us. When we were sailing past it on first arriving, my feelings were drawn toward that island, and I felt that I would like that to be my field of labor. I knew not why this should have been so, except that the Lord gave me the feeling. My joy was very great that day because of these precious manifestations of God’s goodness. I felt that he was near at hand to hear and answer prayer, and to grant the righteous desires of our hearts.
Brother Bigler and Brother Morris will go to Moloka‘i; Brothers Hawkins and Blackwell to Hawaii; and Brothers Dixon and Farrer to Kauai.
As Brother Clark has asked Brother Morris to work for a time to help with mission costs, Brother Bigler has been given permission to accompany me and Brother Keeler to Maui. We leave on the afternoon tide. I will mail this letter to you before departing.
I pray for you always, dear sister, and hope that your trials are not too severe. Love to Ann, Angus, David Henry, and Leonora. I shall probably not recognize any of you when I return.
Your brother, George
***
“Brother Cannon! How are you faring?” Brother Bigler called below deck.
“I am wretched, Brother Bigler. The sea is my enemy.”
“Well, I may have news to cheer you. We are in sight of Lahaina, Maui, and should make port in an hour.”
George sat up, steadied himself, and put on his shoes. He gathered every ounce of strength and stood. For a day and a half he had been seasick. In fact, they had scarcely crossed the reef out of Honolulu harbor when the illness overtook him and he went below to lie down, refusing even the mention of food. The lack of sustenance had made him weak, and it took him time to gain his balance “I will go and do the things that the Lord commands,” he said stubbornly, heading for the ladder to topside.
As they came off the channel, the motion of the boat calmed, and George’s stomach began to settle. He made his way tentatively across the deck, hoping the breeze would clear his head and the sight of land would lift his spirit. Indeed, the sight of the island of Maui was a tonic. The mountains rising behind the town of Lahaina were not as towering or thickly vegetated as the cliffs on Oahu, but the stark mountains of short grass and ruddy rocks were slashed by deep precipices and covered with billowing clouds. Hills rolled down from the base of the mountains to the flat area of land that held the town of Lahaina in its arms. George squinted and searched for the buildings and houses of the town, but could only catch glimpses as they were nearly hidden by the dense foliage.
Brother Keeler, who had also been sick on the crossing, stood at the railing looking out over the placid water. It cheered George’s heart to see him. As soon as James caught sight of him, he grinned, and pointed at something in the water.
“Come look at a remarkable sight, Brother Cannon!”
George moved alongside his companions. He gasped and held tightly to the railing as several huge fish leapt from the water a stone’s throw from the ship. “What type of fish are those?” he questioned, watching in amazement as three more leapt.
“Them ain’t fish,” a crewman chuckled. “Them are air-breathing mammals. They’re called dolphins.”
“Mammals?” George asked. “Air-breathing, like whales?”
“Yep. That’ll be them,” the crewman answered.
George forgot his sickness as he watched the agile animals. “They seem to be racing the ship.”
The sailor chuckled and turned back to his business. “Yes, indeed. They do like their games. The Hawaiian people see them critters as signs of good fortune.”
“I can see why,” Brother Bigler said, smiling.
“Good fortune,” Brother Keeler mused, lifting his eyes to the town of Lahaina and the whaling ships anchored in the harbor. “It seems like we might need a bit of that in this undertaking.”
Brother Bigler thumped him on the shoulder. “We’re on the Lord’s errand, Brother Keeler. He’ll point us in the right direction if we’re not pigheaded.” He turned to George. “Well, Brother Cannon, you are the lead missionary for this island, what is your first suggestion when we reach shore?”
George gawked at the man. Though Brother Bigler was certainly not old at thirty-five, he was still twelve years his senior, and George was acutely aware of the man’s wealth of life experience and wisdom. He cleared his throat. “I . . . I suppose food and a place to stay.”
Brother Bigler grinned. “Now there’s wise counsel.”
***
“Sit here under this big tree,” Brother Bigler ordered and George obeyed. He was worn down by the effects of the seasickness, lack of food, and three hours in the hot sun looking for a place to stay. They did not have money enough to lodge at the hotel or one of the boardinghouses, but their options were dwindling. Brother Bigler stacked their belongings around George’s feet. “Brother Keeler and I will continue the search,” he announced, handing George a canteen. “You stay here and rest.”
“But, Brother Keeler is unwell too.”
“I’m feeling much better now that I have solid ground under my feet.”
George nodded. “All right then, but come back within the hour if you haven’t found anything, and we’ll go to one of those boardinghouses. I don’t care how much it costs.”
Brother Keeler patted him on the shoulder, and the two men left.
There were a myriad of new sights to mystify and intrigue, but George hung his head and closed his eyes. Not the horrendous time in Nauvoo, nor crossing the plains, nor working with little food in the Salt Lake Valley had made him feel so weary or despondent. He thought it a great trial to come into a foreign nation to preach the gospel. Preach the gospel? That was as possible as him learning to fly. How was he going to share the good news with anyone? He couldn’t even speak in front of a group. He missed his family. His stomach hurt. He missed William Farrer and his jokes.
George sat up and took a long drink of water. His boots and the cuffs of his pant legs were covered in a red lava dust, which clung like a bad omen. There was only one main street with a few minor ones intersecting, and George figured he and his companions had walked every one, with no success in finding a place to stay. In frustration he kicked over Brother Bigler’s valise, which startled a small green bird into flight.
George hung his head again. Lord, forgive me. I’m just worn down. I feel as though there’s a weight pressing me down. I need Thy strength. I need this dark feeling to leave me. He heard a rustling in the fallen leaves nearby and looked sideways to see the small bird again. George stared at it. He’d never seen a bird this color. Its pale green and yellow feathers looked more like fluff, and George longed to hold the soft fellow in his hand. He watched unmoving as the bird rooted around in the leaves. Periodically it would come up with a twig or bit of leaf, but these were soon discarded. Suddenly the bird struck, and when its head emerged from the debris, it held a large brown beetle in its silver beak. His friend’s triumph made George smile. In a flutter of wings, it was gone.
“Brother Cannon!” Brother Bigler called. George watched the approach of the two missionaries. They were smiling. “We’ve found a house!”
Notes
The dedication of the land of Hawaii for the preaching of the gospel, and the casting of lots to decide area mission leaders and island assignments was recorded by George Cannon in his journal. He also recorded his feelings of inadequacy at being chosen one of the mission leaders.
